Home Sweet Home
by modernxxmyth
Summary: Bruce and Natasha go undercover in the suburbs. Shenanigans ensue. Fake married AU. Pre-AoU.


Written for bunnyspek in the HulkWidow fanwork exchange on tumblr! Prompt was "fake married." This is set after Captain America: The Winter Soldier and before Avengers: Age of Ultron. Canon compliant for both, though very few spoilers for either (but definitely some mentions). Warnings for brief and non-graphic references to child abuse and a bit of violence/gore/death. And some language. Honestly, mostly fluff with a bit of angst mixed in for good measure. Because apparently I don't know how to write pure fluff. Hope you enjoy. :)

* * *

 **Home Sweet Home**

The neighborhood, Bruce has decided, is absolutely _ridiculous_. Every house looks the same, just with the occasional slight change - everyone's hedges are trimmed a little differently, a couple front doors are a rustic red instead of the usual oaky brown, and the colors of the shutters differ from house to house. Some homes grow petunias instead of daffodils, some have gardenias and rose bushes.

The front yard of Nancy and Bryce Reynolds, specifically, features an _actual_ white picket fence, sweet pea flowers, hyacinths, lots of shrubbery, and two large American holly trees.

Natasha smooths down her blue sundress with the palms of her hands and pulls out her key to the house, opening the door wide and entering, Bruce following behind her. He closes and locks the door, taking in the large hallway with hardwood flooring and a giant, spiraling staircase.

Natasha turns to Bruce, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Home sweet home."

Bruce frowns. "This should be _very_ interesting."

 **Two Weeks Earlier**

Bruce walks into the meeting in Avengers Tower five minutes late, looking harried and uncomfortable. Natasha, Fury, and Maria are already there, talking about plans. Natasha looks concerned, and a sense of dread grows within him when he sees her expression, along with the lack of other Avengers at the meeting.

He clears his throat when he enters the room. "Where's everyone else?"

Natasha sighs when she looks at him, and Nick gestures for him to sit down.

Fury's voice rings out. "It's just you and Romanoff today, Dr. Banner."

Bruce keeps his responding tone deliberately low and calm. "What's going on?"

"I'll get straight to the point," Nick replies. "We're sending you and Romanoff on a mission."

Bruce presses his lips into a thin line. "Need something destroyed?"

"In a manner of speaking…" Maria hedges.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"We're sending you undercover to bring down a drug trafficking ring. We've got intel leading us to believe they may be involved in the human trafficking side of things, too. So we're sending you in." Fury states.

Bruce blinks. "You're _what_?"

He continues, "You'll be living in a neighborhood in suburban Connecticut under the aliases of Bryce and Nancy Reynolds. Your new next door neighbors are our prime suspects for this operation."

Bruce shakes his head. "You want to send me undercover into the _suburbs_? _Me?_ No offense meant, to any of you, but…what the _hell_ are you thinking?"

He thinks he sees a glint of amusement in Fury's eyes and kind of wants to smack him for having the audacity to find humor in the situation. He shouldn't be trusted in Avengers Tower, let alone the suburbs, surrounded by families and innocents. If something were to go wrong, the consequences could be dire.

"I'm _thinking_ ," Nick presses on, "That Barton's already undercover, Stark's too recognizable and unpredictable, Rogers is off on a manhunt, and Thor isn't even on this planet at the moment. We're out of options, Dr. Banner. You're not particularly recognizable, and you and Romanoff have had that lullaby perfected for months. You'll be perfectly fine. And we need this taken care of, fast."

Bruce turns to Natasha to find her staring at him with an unreadable expression.

"What do think about all of this, Natasha?"

The corners of her lips turn up. "Could be fun."

He gives her a hard look.

"You'll be fine, Bruce," she says quietly, warmth seeping into her voice. "I promise."

He realizes then that it's not herself she's concerned about, living with him and working together. Her worried look is for _him_.

Bruce breathes a heavy, resigned sigh. "When do we leave?"

 **Present Day**

"Of all the things I've ever had to do undercover," Natasha begins, glancing over her shoulder at Bruce, who is sipping herbal tea from a mug and observing her with some amusement. "This may just be the _worst_."

Bruce laughs, shaking his head and setting his mug down on the counter. He grabs a large mixing spoon from the kitchen drawer and takes the bowl of batter from her.

" _Baking_ is the worst thing you've ever had to do on a mission? Really?"

Natasha nods seriously, washing her flour covered hands in the sink. "This is _terrible_. I could be kicking someone's ass right now. Hacking into HYDRA files. Infiltrating a corrupt corporation. _Anything_ but this."

Bruce grins ruefully and begins to stir the batter. "I'm sorry this is so difficult for you."

"I _hate_ the suburbs."

He gives her an amused look. "Who doesn't?" He stirs the batter more rigorously. "Hey, can you pass me the cupcake tray?"

Natasha groans and grabs it from the cabinet, then hands it to him. "Can't we just lace these with poison and be done with it?"

Bruce smirks. "If only."

Natasha's grin is blindingly wide and most certainly fake when they knock on George Richardson's door - their likely drug kingpin - but he knows the beaming smile must look as natural as breathing to anyone but him. He and Natasha have spent a lot of time together in recent months, and he's finally started learning to read her. As well as _anyone_ can, anyway. She's granted him with many a real smile lately, eyes unguarded and lips curling up at the corners with honest affection.

This is not one of them.

It's strange, seeing her in spy-mode again. It's not something he's witnessed from her since their first meeting in Kolkata, and even then, she'd been much more natural than this. But today they're supposed to be the sweet, gregarious new neighbors on the block, getting to know the people they're now living beside.

It makes Bruce feel nauseous. He's not the best of liars, and he's not the best at socializing, either, preferring isolation over conversation. Natasha had reassured him repeatedly before they left their house - and wasn't _that_ a strange notion, them having a _house_ together, even if just temporarily for this mission - but he remains nervous and unsettled as they wait for their new neighbors to answer the door. Natasha holds the tray of cupcakes in one hand and slips her other arm through his and around his elbow, drawing him into her, and Bruce stiffens.

"Relax," she whispers. "It'll be fine."

Bruce nods and forces himself to unclench his muscles, leaning into her slightly.

A tall, pale brunette woman clad in a vibrant red sundress answers the door, and Bruce recognizes her from the files they'd studied as George Richardson's wife, Stephanie.

"Hi there," Natasha smiles in greeting. "I'm Nancy, and this is my husband, Bryce. We're the Reynolds."

"Well, hello!" Stephanie smiles wide in response. "You must be our new neighbors! We saw your move-in truck yesterday but didn't want to bother you while you were settling in. It's so nice to meet you. I'm Stephanie. My husband George is out back, mowing the lawn. Would you two like to come in?"

Natasha passes her the cupcakes and slips her hand into Bruce's.

"We'd _love_ to."

Bruce and Natasha case the house as best they can when Stephanie leaves them to put the cupcakes in the kitchen. They don't find much of anything, but they only have a couple of minutes to gather information while she's gone. He hadn't expected them to learn much of anything today, anyway, only gain an in with their suspects in hopes of being able to explore and learn more at a later date. They do manage to leave a couple bugs while she's gone, however, planting one under a lamp in the living room and another beneath the computer keyboard in the study adjacent from the main hallway.

Stephanie returns with three cupcakes on tiny plates for them to all enjoy just as he and Natasha sit back down on the couch where she left them, and Stephanie invites them to the neighborhood potluck she and George happen to be hosting this weekend. It's a perfect opportunity that they accept right away, and Bruce can hear the wheels turning in Natasha's head as she sits beside him with an ever-present pleasant smile on her face.

George comes inside just as they're finishing their cupcakes, drenched in sweat, and his eyes linger on Natasha for a moment when Stephanie introduces them. Bruce is worried for a moment that she's been recognized - her face _was_ all over the news a few months back, even if she is disguised with blonde hair and colored contacts now - but then he follows the path of George's gaze to Natasha's chest, rather than her face, and he has to suppress an eye roll. He hasn't recognized them; he's just a creep. Which is unsurprising, considering his likely profession. He wonders idly if Stephanie is in on it, too, George's side business, or if she's just as oblivious as the rest of the neighborhood. She seems perfectly sweet and innocent, but she could just be a good liar.

They leave not long after introductions, having no real excuse to stay after eating the cupcakes and chatting amiably, but they're grateful for the invitation to the potluck that weekend.

Natasha pulls out a laptop and bug-listening equipment as soon as they're back home, and they both settle in on the couch to listen to whatever the Richardson's are up to in their absence.

They don't learn much. Their neighbors don't talk a lot that night, though they do discuss Natasha and Bruce a little, Stephanie filling him in on their new neighbors, giving him the details of their lives that they'd shared - which had, of course, been their cover stories. Nancy is a yoga teacher, looking for new positions at local studios in the area now that they've relocated, and Bryce has just accepted a position as the new biology professor at the local university. Neither are professions that would be able to pay for a house the size they've got, which Stephanie actually notes in conversation with her husband as they listen in, but they've got their backstory in place; Nancy's extremely wealthy great uncle died just over a year ago, leaving all his money to her, his last surviving relative. They've been saving the money until now to spend on a nice house they hope to one day fill with their children.

It makes Bruce a little bitter, really. He'd never exactly wanted the suburban cliche, but back in another life, before gamma radiation and self-tested serums, he'd wanted a wife. Maybe a family, on his more optimistic days when the fear of becoming his father didn't outweigh his yearning for something _good_ and _normal_. He'd pictured it with Betty, back in the day. Two little ones, a boy and a girl, both with dark, unruly curls and intelligent minds. It was a pipe dream then, and now it's an impossibility. Something he gave up on a long time ago and hadn't let himself think on in nearly a decade. This cover story, though, has him thinking again, feeling the sting of impossible dreams as fresh as they'd been after the original incident.

Bruce sighs and grabs himself a beer after the audio of George and Stephanie stops entirely, the pair of them presumably having retired to bed.

"You did well today," Natasha tells him, taking a beer for herself after shutting the laptop they've been listening to for the past several hours.

"Yeah?" Bruce replies, sounding unconvinced.

She nods insistently. "Yeah, you were good." She adds, amusement evident in her tone, "Very husbandly."

Bruce snorts with laughter. "I'll bet."

Natasha places a hand on his shoulders. "Really, Bruce. You were good. You don't need to worry."

He shakes his head. "I think I have a fair amount to be worried about."

"Is losing control what you're so scared of?"

Bruce gives her a pointed look as if to say, _obviously_.

Natasha sighs. "You _know_ the lullaby works, Bruce. You've got a lot more control now. You can handle yourself."

"You have a lot more faith in me than I do."

"Well, that's _always_ been true."

He laughs self-deprecatingly.

Natasha continues. "If you had _half_ as much faith in yourself as I have in you, we'd be golden."

"You're a far more optimistic person than I am."

Now she's the one to laugh self-deprecatingly, loud and beautiful and dripping with bitterness. It saddens Bruce to realize how much it mirrors his own.

"Oh yeah," she replies, voice dry. "I'm a regular ray of sunshine."

He gives her wry smile.

They finish their beers in companionable silence, sitting at the counter in the kitchen together.

Bruce rinses out their empty bottles and puts them in the recycling bin.

"We should get some sleep," Natasha says. "Early morning tomorrow."

"Yeah?"

She nods. "Apparently Polly across the street does sunrise yoga that I just _have_ to attend. And you should trim the hedges before it gets too hot out. It'll be very _husbandly_."

Bruce sighs. "I hate the suburbs."

"You and me both."

That night, he dreams of his parents for the first time in years. Of his mother's apologetic eyes, of his father's angry fists and even angrier words. His father's fists turn green at the edges, he transforms, and Bruce is left staring at the Hulk, a mirror of his other self. He wakes to the sound of his name being called in a gentle but firm tone, over and over. He blinks his eyes open as his history disappears and he finds Natasha standing in the doorway to his room. It takes him a moment to remember where he is, in their house they're temporarily sharing, displaced from their lives in the tower to this strange new reality.

He thinks maybe that's why he's dreamed what he did; their bizarre vacation in suburbia and discussion of their future fictional children have reawaken memories best left in the past.

Bruce sits up, sheet slipping down his torso.

"Natasha." He hears the gravelly note in his voice and clears his throat. "Hey."

She's still lingering in the doorway, looking uncertain of her welcome.

"Hey," she replies in a quiet voice. "I hope you don't mind that I woke you. I heard you, and I thought…well, I thought it sounded like you'd probably rather not be dreaming whatever it was you were dreaming."

"You're right," he responds. He pauses before adding, "Thanks."

He doesn't like that she's seen him like this; unguarded and unsettled and raw. But he appreciates the gesture more than she knows.

Natasha nods like she understands.

"What are you doing up?" he asks because he's not sure what else to say.

She purses her lips. "Let's just say you weren't the only one who didn't like what they were dreaming."

Bruce isn't sure why the statement takes him aback. To him, Natasha is the picture of strong; unyielding and unbreakable in all the best ways. It's not that he thinks she is entirely unemotional - he's seen the real her on more than one occasion, knows that she is so much more than just the Black Widow. That she's just a woman, a human, even with all her training. This just isn't something he had considered before now. But of course she would have nightmares, have trouble sleeping. Natasha Romanoff has seen more than her fair share of battle, bloodshed, and pain. She's just much better at hiding it than he is.

Their eyes lock briefly, understanding passing between them in a moment of surprising intimacy, and Bruce nods knowingly.

"What time is it?" he asks.

"Quarter past four. I think I'm probably just going to stay up."

"Yeah," he agrees, knowing going back to sleep isn't an option for him, either. "Me too." He pauses. "You want some tea?"

Natasha grants him a flicker of a smile. "That sounds good."

They head down to the kitchen, and Bruce makes a strong pot of tea, pouring out two cups and passing Natasha a mug.

"Milk or sugar?" he inquires.

She shakes her head. "I'm good."

He nods, grabs his mug, and pours in a hint of milk. Then they head to the living room and curl up on opposite ends of the couch. The pair sit in comfortable silence for a while, sipping their tea.

Natasha gives him an evaluating look. "Are you usually this bad a sleeper?"

Bruce thinks she probably already knows the answer to the question, but he nods anyway.

"Yeah, I'm not so great with the whole sleeping thing. Idle minds and all that." He narrows his eyes slightly at her. "Have _you_ always been such a bad sleeper?"

She shrugs. "Only for the past few decades."

He gives Natasha a small, rueful smile. "Oh, is that all?"

She laughs and takes another sip from her mug.

"Tea's good," she says after a moment.

Bruce's smile widens. "Thanks. I like to think I've perfected the process over the years."

"Well, I'd say you've done a pretty damn good job. Not that I'm usually a tea drinker. Not enough caffeine to get me going. I'll probably need another few cups."

"Then let's hope no one tries to attack us with welcome-to-the-neighborhood fruit baskets until you've had some more."

Natasha scoots closer to him on the couch.

"Don't worry, Banner." She pats his thigh, and Bruce feels his heart skip a beat. "I'm sure the adrenaline will kick in, if need be."

He chuckles under his breath. "Glad to hear it."

The next morning, he makes a pot of coffee, instead. He knows he'll only have maybe half a cup; he doesn't like to consume too much caffeine. It can make the Other Guy a little itchy on the bad days. But he watched yesterday as Natasha inhaled three and a half cups of his strongest tea, so he thinks maybe she'd appreciate the added caffeination.

She wanders down the stairs just past five in the morning, pulling her hair into a small ponytail at the base of her neck. She grins when she enters the kitchen and spots the coffee, then gives him a speculative look.

"I thought you were a tea drinker."

Bruce can feel himself flush. He shrugs. "Had a hankering."

She takes in his used cup sitting in the sink, still half full, and gives him a look that seems something akin to affectionate, eyes lighting up. She beams at him.

He has to remind himself to breathe.

Bruce is outside in the front yard watering the plants a few hours later when Natasha returns from block-wide sunrise yoga, clad in a tank top and yoga pants. He's drenched in sweat, having mowed the lawn not long before. Natasha looks relaxed and entertained by the state of him when she approaches.

He watches her glance across the street, noting their neighbor John grabbing the morning paper and observing them from afar.

Natasha walks up to him, wraps her arms around his neck, and presses a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth, just shy of his lips.

Bruce swallows and focuses very hard on not appearing surprised by the gesture.

He takes a breath. "Have fun at yoga?"

She snorts. "Oh yeah. It was a riot."

"Is yoga _supposed_ to be a riot? From my experience, it's supposed to be relaxing. Calming, even."

"The yoga itself was relaxing. It was Polly's gossip afterwards that was so riotous."

He raises his eyebrows.

"She wanted to know _all_ about you." Natasha trails her hands down from around his neck to rest on his chest. Bruce thinks she must be able to feel his heart racing underneath her palms.

"Did she?"

"Oh yeah. She thinks you're a bonafide hottie."

Bruce splutters out a laugh. "Seriously?"

Natasha nods with a straight face, humor evident in her gaze. "She also wanted to know how you are in bed."

He makes a noise that's half-laugh and half-horror, and he says nothing. Because, _really_ , what the hell is he supposed to say to that?

She smirks and pats his chest where her hands rest. "Don't worry. I gave you _great_ performance reviews."

He swallows. "Um…thank you?"

Natasha laughs. "Why don't you finish up out here and meet me inside? We should talk about this weekend."

She runs her fingers through his rumpled hair before she leaves him in the yard, and he's left staring at the shrubs for several long moments before he can remember exactly what he was doing.

They spend the night before the potluck baking, once again. They talk strategy as they mix the ingredients and stir the batter; Natasha details how they'll both stay on comms for the duration of the party - tiny micro-sized earpieces that won't be visible to anyone that happens to look. They discuss the plan for Natasha to slip away during the party to case the house while they pour batter into a pan and stick the soon-to-be cake in the oven.

"I've got to say," Bruce begins once they've taken out the cake to cool some 40 minutes later, smiling a bit sheepishly. "When Fury told me I was going undercover, I expected a little less baking."

Natasha groans, but he can see the humor in her eyes. "You'd think we could hire someone for this. Maybe go to a bakery. But apparently suburbanites can _always_ tell when something is store bought." She shakes her head in what appears to be very genuine disgust.

"Still hating the suburbs?" he teases.

"Very much so. Though this house, while _far_ too garish in decoration, isn't so bad."

"Yeah," he agrees. "It's a nice place. Certainly better than what I'm used to."

"I don't know about that. You forget I've been to Tony's house in Malibu, Bruce."

He laughs at that. "Okay, fair. I was thinking more…before."

He thinks of life on the run, living in run-down shacks and being ready to bolt at the first sign of being recognized. He'd been so lonely for so many years, he's finally beginning to acknowledge. He'd forced the notion away, running and hiding and pretending to be okay with it for years on end, but having people in his life again has reawakened something he'd thought he'd left in the past. He'd first connected with Tony, making the first real friend he'd had in years. That human connection he made with him and the other Avengers when Natasha first tracked him down and brought him into battle - something he'd resented so completely at first but now finds himself entirely grateful for - changed how he sees things. He'd convinced himself he wasn't lonely, that he didn't need people. Then he forged connections again, learned to live like a real person. Now he's having trouble picturing life without it, life without _them_. Without his friends. Without _Natasha_.

He's tried hard not to think of it or her too much, but now that they're living in close quarters and pretending to be _married_ , he can't continue to deny their connection. He likes it, likes _her_ , more than he's ready to admit. They've only had to pretend to be a couple for a few minutes in front of people so far, and the feel of her pressed against him and the connection he felt when she linked her arm through his still lingers with him even now. He's half excited and half terrified for tomorrow. He can't pretend he hasn't enjoyed the way she's touched him, even if he's unused to the physical contact. But they're also on a mission, and if these neighbors of theirs are who they've been led to believe and something goes wrong…he can't risk an incident. He _can't_. There will be so many people there, so many civilians around, probably _children_ …the stakes are high, and a part of him that is none too small really resents Fury for asking this of him.

Bruce watches Natasha nod in understanding, and he shakes himself from the thoughts.

"I figured," she responds. "They are pretty nice digs. I've stayed in my fair share of… _interesting_ places, too."

Her tone is relaxed but doesn't invite questions, and he doesn't ask. She's been in this business a long time - her whole life, really - and he's sure she's roughed it plenty, when needed.

Bruce nods and gives her a half-smile, and when he goes to check the cake, he realizes it's cooled substantially.

"Time to frost?" Natasha asks, a teasing lilt to her voice.

"It would seem so."

He reaches for a mixing bowl, and she grabs the ingredients, and they make short work of making the frosting. Natasha smirks a little when she pulls out the green food coloring.

"Really?" he says drily when he sees the color she selects.

"What?" she responds with mock innocence.

He shakes his head at her but says nothing as she pinches drops into the frosting and he dutifully mixes the coloring. They have frosting left over when they've smoothed it over the cake, and Natasha grabs the bowl from Bruce and sticks her hand in, swiping it around and coating her fingers in it, then sucking her fingers clean with a tiny, teasing smile.

Bruce breathes out a laugh, trying not to appear as flustered as he's beginning to feel.

"Good?" he asks, and his voice sounds much more gruff than intended.

Natasha nods, eyes twinkling with amusement, and she puts one finger back into the bowl to get more frosting. But instead of returning the finger to her mouth, she turns it toward him and smears green frosting onto his nose.

Bruce blinks.

Natasha just stands there, smiling slightly with barely contained mirth.

He blinks again. "Seriously?"

She laughs, then shrugs. "What? It's good. You should try some."

He shakes his head in disbelief but can feel the smile creeping onto his face because he has _never_ seen Natasha look so playful and carefree before. Bruce is finding it oddly invigorating. So he puts two fingers in the bowl, scoops some frosting onto them, and withdraws his hand. Then he sucks one finger into his mouth, licking it clean, and reaches out to smear the rest of the frosting onto Natasha's nose in return.

Bruce grins. "Green's a good look for you."

Her smile is slow and genuine, and he thinks maybe it holds a little meaning beyond amusement, now.

"I'm starting to think so, too."

He swallows hard and excuses himself to wash his face after a few moments.

The potluck is 18 hours later, and Bruce and Natasha show up on the Richardson's doorstep with quinoa salad, green frosted cake, and a bottle of chardonnay just as everyone is starting to arrive. Natasha's dressed in a bright green halter sundress. He'd wanted to roll his eyes at the color choice and at the smirk on her face when she came down the stairs after dressing… _especially_ after his comment last night. But he refrained and fiddled with the top button on his pale purple button up, instead. Green _is_ a good look for her, after all. They've already got their earpieces in, and Natasha makes sure to reiterate the plan to him before they leave the house.

"I'm so glad you were able to make it!" Stephanie exclaims when she sees them, taking the food from their hands and leading them to the kitchen.

"Wouldn't miss it," Natasha smiles, and Bruce has to suppress a laugh at the truth of her words.

They talk amicably with Stephanie, then several other neighbors they are introduced to, and when Natasha slips an arm around his waist, Bruce forces himself to relax. It's not that he doesn't like the contact - because he _does_ , craves it like he's starved for affectionand addicted to her touch _-_ but he's still unused to the tactility of her, of them, and he has to forcibly remind himself not to tense up in front of the group of strangers they're chatting with idly.

Bruce takes a deep breath and, feeling bold under the guise of marital bliss, drapes an arm across Natasha's shoulders. She turns her face toward his and gives him a pleased little smile, one she's given him many times before, and it's a smile he _knows_. It's a smile he knows because it's _real_ , a genuine quirk of the lips she's given him when she's happy with something he's said or done in the past, and Bruce thinks that maybe he's not the only one feeling this. Whatever _this_ may be. The warm smile on her face, one he knows belongs to _Natasha_ and not Nancy, feels a little something like liberation.

He wonders briefly what it would be like to kiss her properly. He thinks of cupping her cheek in his hand and pressing his lips against hers, what it would be like to melt into Natasha and wrap his arms around her and kiss her for days. He could do it, now. If he really wanted. At least he's got an excuse locked and loaded, a tender moment between husband and wife.

"You two are so sweet together," Polly says to them a few moments later, watching their little interaction. Bruce shakes himself. "It's nice to see a couple so in love."

He has to choke back a dark laugh, and Natasha's face goes momentarily blank before she brings back her wide Nancy Reynolds smile, fake as ever.

She leans in, pressing herself against him as closely as humanly possible.

Bruce clears his throat and smiles at Polly.

"Well, she certainly makes me happy."

He's not sure what makes him say it, but he's glad he does because when he looks at Natasha again a few moments later, the genuine, gentle smile is back on her face.

Polly leaves them a few minutes later, giving Bruce a lingering look of interest as she goes, and he suddenly remembers what Natasha had said about their conversation a few days before. He tightens his arm around Natasha.

She doesn't manage to slip away and start to check the place out until almost an hour later, being stopped by neighbor after neighbor. George and Stephanie are in the backyard entertaining a group of people when Natasha gives him a little discreet nod and disappears into the hallway. Bruce heads to the kitchen, feeling awkward standing by himself, waiting to hear her voice in his ear. He makes himself a plate of food he knows he probably won't wind up eating just to give himself something to do with his hands.

"Nothing yet," Natasha's voice says over the comm.

"Got it," he answers shortly, turning his head away from the crowd of people to make sure no one catches him talking to himself.

The comms are silent for several minutes, and Bruce pushes his salad around with his plastic fork, trying to act natural.

Her voice rings clear in his earpiece. "He's our guy."

Bruce hides his mouth behind a piece of lettuce. "You're sure?"

"I'm certain."

Natasha's voice has a hard edge to it, and he suspects whatever it is that she's found must not be pleasant.

"Where are you?" Bruce asks, hiding his face behind another bite of salad.

"Basement. I'm coming to meet you."

Bruce tosses his plate into the trash. "Headed your way."

She's silent for several long moments, and just as he's beginning to really worry, he hears her, voice urgent and harried in his ear.

"Bruce, you need to get everyone out of the house. _Now_."

He feels his eyes go wide and he looks around at all the party goers. Nobody's any the wiser to the situation. There are adults and kids alike, smiling and laughing and eating. Bruce wants to scream.

"What? Are you okay?"

" _Now_ , Banner."

 _Fuck_ , he thinks.

"Okay, I'm on it." He adds, because he can't help it. "Be careful."

He hears a loud grunt on her end, and he winces.

It's a moment before she responds. "I'm always careful."

Bruce doesn't know what the hell he's supposed to say or do to get everyone out of the house, so he tells the nearest person he can find that there's a gas leak and that everyone needs to get the hell out _now_. Then he tells another, and another, and within a few minutes everyone at the potluck is filtering out of the house. George and Stephanie are nowhere to be found, Bruce notes, and Natasha is no longer responding to him on comms, and he is freaking the _fuck_ out, so he darts back into the house as the last person exits the premises.

With building worry for Natasha and building worry that this could all lead to an incident of mass proportions from him, Bruce heads down the staircase to the basement. He's just made it to the bottom when he hears the gunshots, five of them ringing out in quick succession.

His breathing speeds up and he can feel his heart pounding. He's full of worry, so much worry, but it's not for him, _none_ of it is for him because he's pretty sure Natasha is still in that basement, and that was more than enough gunfire to fucking _kill_ someone.

He comes out of nowhere. One second Bruce is by himself, about to enter the basement, and then there is a man attacking him. It looks like the man was making a run for it, not expecting to run into Bruce, and Bruce blocks his face with his hands when the man goes in for a punch. He can feel the Other Guy stirring beneath the surface, growing angry and protective and desperate to make an appearance, and Bruce reacts on instinct, punching the man in the face with a closed fist.

He thinks he must have taken the guy by surprise, because he drops like a light, falling back and slumping into the wall into unconsciousness after one strike from Bruce.

Bruce is entirely surprised by himself, and he takes several deep breaths and tries to relax. He can still feel the Other Guy stirring, but he has to go into the basement, has to see if Natasha is alright. She's _got_ to be alright.

The first thing he sees when he enters the basement is blood. It's splattered on the walls, coating the floors. Then he sees the bodies - five of them. George and Stephanie are both dead on the floor, bullets in their foreheads. There are three other men with them, bleeding and not breathing, lying in crumpled heaps. There are stray weapons scattered across the ground beside the bodies, guns and knives alike. He spots a pair of handcuffs around a drain pipe. They're next to a table covered in what he thinks must be heroin. There are files scattered around, little red droplets of blood marring the crisp white pages.

Bruce blinks.

Then he finds her.

Natasha is standing on the other side of the room, arms at her sides and a gun in each hand, breathing hard. Her clothes are coated in so much blood, he's desperately worried that she's been hurt.

She seems to anticipate his reaction.

"Don't worry," is the first thing she says, voice strained. "None of it's mine."

He crosses the room, stepping in little puddles of blood and leaving crimson footprints trailing behind him.

Bruce swallows hard. "You're okay?"

Natasha nods, and when he reaches her side, she puts down her guns and rests her forehead against his shoulder.

"I'm fine."

Bruce feels the Other Guy finally start to relax.

Natasha's voice is shaky, and he knows her statement is not the truth, not really. She's not really fine. She's uninjured, but the turn of events has taken it's toll, and Natasha breathes a sigh of relief when he drapes an arm across her shoulders like he had before, just over an hour ago. She does not smile warmly this time, but he takes comfort in the way she begins to relax against him, looking at him gratefully.

Bruce tightens his arm around her.

"Well…" he begins. "At least we can stop baking."

He's worried that it's the wrong time for a joke, that the attempt at levity will not only fall flat but seem extremely insensitive, yet it's all he can think of to say. He's thankful when Natasha laughs so loudly it makes his ears ring.

They're back at Avengers Tower within a few hours, grabbing their few personal possessions from the house they've been sharing for the week and hopping on a jet Stark sent out to get them. They debrief with Nick Fury and Maria Hill as soon as they arrive, sitting in the conference room for a few hours and going over the details of the mission for what feels like years.

He and Natasha exit the room when the debriefing is over, and Natasha places her hand on his shoulder and squeezes it gently.

"Good mission, Banner. Thanks for helping out."

He shakes his head. "I didn't really do anything."

"You did plenty." Her tone leaves no room for argument.

Natasha gives him a sweet, lingering smile before they part ways, and Bruce realizes then that he's really going to miss her constant presence.

Two days later, Bruce works up his courage and knocks on Natasha's bedroom door in Avengers Tower just before midnight. He hasn't seen her since they parted ways after the debriefing, and it's been making him restless. He knows there is no way she is in bed; if he hadn't known she kept late hours _before_ their week together as The Reynolds, he certainly confirmed their similar sleeping patterns living in that house with her.

She looks both confused and pleased when she opens the door to find him standing there.

"Bruce?"

He smiles timidly and hands her a small square box. "Hey. I brought you something."

Natasha raises her brows. "We're gift-giving friends now?"

Bruce shrugs. "Just open it."

She lifts the lid to find a simple green-frosted cupcake, and she grins, wide and genuine and just for him.

"Don't worry. I didn't bake it myself."

"Glad to hear it."

Natasha grabs the cupcake with both hands, tears it messily in half, and hands him a piece.

Fin.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed! I had so much fun with this fic and this prompt - felt like I finally had an outlet for all my ridiculous suburban knowledge. :P Please review, etc! Now that I'm done writing for this fanwork exchange, I can't wait to get back to working on my brucenat trilogy, so expect more from me in terms of this pairing in the future. Thanks so much for reading!


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